


>SocialExperiment_phase1.

by AnxiousCoffee (TheHallowedAngel)



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Elliot talks to the reader, Nausea, Other, POV First Person, POV elliot, Pre-storyline, Social Anxiety, Vomit, angela just wants elliot to feel okay, elliot is anxious, emeto, no vomit in the first chapter, pre-timeline, though I hope to add some in the second
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 16:01:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15561360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHallowedAngel/pseuds/AnxiousCoffee
Summary: Angela wants to try and help Elliot overcome his anxiety and arranges for them to have drinks at a bar, not understanding just how big of a step this is for him. Panic sets in and Elliot needs to leave, but who will be the one to help him through this, you, or her?AKA: Elliot is not doing good and you're the only other one who knows about it.The fic is somewhat in first person, focusing on Elliot's monologue more than anything else, though it's an attempt at his conversation with the reader (his imaginary person).





	>SocialExperiment_phase1.

Here we are again, you and me, it’s been a while, old friend. Can I even call you that any more? Do you want to be called that? Perhaps not, but you never answer back so I’ll never actually know whether you do or don’t, so for once I’ll make an assumption I know not to be absolute. How have you been, friend? Are you well? One of us should be, tonight I cannot take that burden; Angela has taken me to a bar.

I did protest, mind, but she wasn’t hearing any of it. She insisted it was vital, that it was something one friend should do for another, and that made me feel bad. Would you make me go to a bar? I don’t think you would, but then again you know the workings of my mind in all their intricacy, you know my fears as though they were yours. I guess they are yours, because you are me. I made you. And yet here you are, living and breathing in ways I have never been able to. That is why I envy you.

She’s talking to me, I can see her mouth moving but the words aren’t reaching my ears, the buzz of the people around us is too loud, everything is happening too fast for me to possibly comprehend both that and her, even though she is right there, right in front of me. Maybe you can hear her, can you? Maybe you know exactly what she’s saying, but you’re just not telling me. Then again, I’ve accused you of keeping things from me before and it wasn’t entirely true, you forget just as me, don’t you? I’m too harsh sometimes, I’m sorry.

She seems to be getting more agitated, I think she’s mad at me, maybe I should try harder, but with this horrible feeling of dizziness in my head, I can’t focus. It’s like the world is spinning and I’m chained to the only stationary point in the entirety of existence, it’s so disorientating. I need to find something to focus on, that’s what those self help sites always say, but then again they’re often run by people who’ve never been truly anxious in their lives, they don’t know what it actually feels like. It’s hard to look at one place when there’s nothing that stays put for long enough to look at.

Maybe if I watch her lips I can catch what she’s talking about, I’ve always been good at reading lips, it meant I could shut everything out and not miss a thing. Then again, I haven’t done it in a long time.

Everyone’s speech pattern is different, they enunciate in different levels, while some people clearly show each syllable, others barely show a thing. It’s simply down to individual variation, it’s not like the decide to move their lips in a certain way, often it’s just how they learnt to talk.

I’m getting side tracked again, you’re too easy to talk to. Probably because you don’t reply.

She’s talking about it being calm tonight, I think, she’s always been one of those people who doesn’t move their mouth too much, she’s very shy in nature so it makes sense, she’s restricting herself. She’s proud, she says, that I’m calm and not freaking out, but she has no idea. There’s this ache in my stomach, like someone has punched me and keeps pressing harder and harder, almost like everything is getting tighter. It’s nausea, twisting and burning and I know where this is going, I don’t want it to but I know. I always know. There’s nothing I’ve focused on more over the years, I know my own body inside and out, I have to. If I want to test my limits I have to know the limits of every system, every cycle that goes on in here.

Everything is starting to blur now. You can’t see it, or maybe you can, but it’s so hard to tell her apart from the rest of the room. It’s all one murky wash of colours, like a sick mockery of my anxiety in all its glory, one mess of different things boiled down to one source.

I can’t even breath anymore, do you know? Everytime I try it just gets caught in my throat and I have to cover it up, swallow something that doesn’t exist yet, foreshadowing I guess. I used to panic a lot more about this panic, like switching on a switch to switch on a switch, just an endless cycle of the same things, it never did seem too productive. But after a while I managed to train myself, to change the way I thought, but maybe it’s starting to unravel again.

It’s getting worse again, prickling heat is all over my body and my mouth seems to be full of saliva no matter how many times I swallow, over and over again it just keeps filling back up. The back of my mouth already feels wrong, a swelling pressure has taken home in my oesophagus, choking me. I need to get out of here, I need to leave, but I can’t just go without saying anything, she’ll get mad at me again and I hate when she’s mad. She doesn’t talk to me. I just have to keep swallowing, surely I can ride this out, right? Why am I asking you, you can’t answer. I’ve said that a lot already, haven’t I? She’s saying she’s having fun, that she wishes I’d talk more though, but if I open my mouth I know I’ll start to heave, it’s all connected you see, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I can hold on a little longer, just until she’s finished that drink, it’ll be okay. I have you to distract me, it’ll be fine.

I think I’m convincing myself more than anything.

She says something about catching up and then motions to my glass, it’s just soda, I don’t drink alcohol, Morphine normally wakes me up, but alcohol numbs everything; I get reckless. She wants me to drink more, she probably feels likes she’s drinking alone, and I guess she is. Drinking together would indicate that I too am drinking alcohol, but I’m not, it’s more like she’s drinking and I’m supporting her, but I have to drink something too. I have to.

I should nod, that’s a thing people do when the agree to something or to acknowledge something, but I can’t, any sort of movement seems like a bad idea now, don’t you think? I do. But all the same I should take a few sips, as long as I drink slowly it should be fine, but now I have this glass in my hand everything seems so much louder, all the voices around me are more like screams, it sounds like hundreds of people are saying one word each over and over again, I can’t stand it. You’re lucky you aren’t hearing all this.

This was a mistake. I can feel the bubbles stuck in my throat, the most of the liquid went down but the bubbles are trapped by that metaphorical lump, the urge to gag is so unbearable now, I have to leave. I’m sorry, Angela, I really am.

I almost tripped just then, I never do that.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm moving a lot of my stuff from tumblr (sicknsuffering) over onto here for easier access, please stand by!


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